Chapter 15; Rue's POV

A/N: This is huge project I have to do for English class. I had to choose of a few different things to do, and I chose re-writing a chapter from the book I was reading in someone else's point of view. If you could please critique it for me that'd me great. I won't leave it up here for long, though, unless you want me to.

I've never done anything in present tense so be easy on me. Point out if I make any mistakes. I'm no good at editing my own work so . . . yeah. If I make a few mistakes story-line wise it doesn't really matter. You can point 'em out if you want to, but I'm not going to do anything about it; just grammar and smelling please.

Thanks so much. :-)

-Malevolence Everlasting-

Chapter 15; POV: Rue

I can't see well, it's very dark. I hear the muffled screams and shouts of the Careers. They are running; their heavy footfalls reverberate through the otherwise silent forest. I am scared, my heart beats frantically. Why did I do that? I think. She could be the next to kill me. But strangely, I don't regret it.

I hang briefly on the branch I'm on, contemplating this, before twisting my small body and lurching toward the next tree. It is harder this time; I must be nearing the edge of the forest. This thought scares me.

The air is getting cold and I am very tired. I decide to make camp in the next tree I leap to. I amble high into the top branches; I am light enough that they don't break. My hand slips into the rucksack I carry and I take out the pair of socks, pulling them over my hands. I press my back into the tree trunk, letting my legs cross. I know I won't fall; I have done this many times back home.

For a few moments I stay like that, my mind absent. I listen to the heavy inhalations my chest makes, they are labored. I think it's because of the coldness, but I can't be sure.

I can't force myself to think about anything else. My eyelids are very heavy; I haven't slept in at least twenty-four hours now. The thought seems to make me drowsier.

And then, just as I'm falling asleep the cannon rings through the air like a shrill bell. Twice. It startles me and I almost fall from the tree. I wonder who died, I think, and then my heart beats again. Katniss! She didn't make it! My mind is slightly incoherent.

For a moment, I am startled again. Why do I fear for her death? After all everyone is an enemy here, even the Careers will end up having to kill each other at some point. No friends—we're all enemies. I think of the Cornucopia, and I shudder.

XXX

The next morning I awaken lethargically, my limbs are very stiff. However, instantaneously my mind sweeps aware—I can't afford to be slow, I have to move.

The sunlight blinds me though, and I am surprised by its intensity. I wonder briefly what the Gamekeepers' motives are: why they're making it cold as snow during the nights, and sweltering during the day. Maybe to keep the viewers interested? Or to kill us faster? I am inclined to believe the latter.

I amble down swiftly from the tree; I've decided to go back towards Katniss's direction. I don't know why, but I do. There is blood on the ground—lots of it—the sight makes my heart gallop again, and I slap my hand against my chest as if to stifle the sound. Of course it doesn't work. I wonder if the Careers can hear it, I know they're at the lake more than a mile away, but the thought still sends a deep shudder down my spine and my stomach is suddenly hallow.

I reach the small area in the woods where the blood is suddenly very dense against the grass; I pause and glance around as if to make sure no one is coming. Being out in the open like this frightens me.

I hear a low moan and my body freezes midstride, my breathing accelerates until I'm almost hyperventilating, and this frightens me more because it's loud and I'm sure anyone could hear it. But there is nothing more. Not a sound. I don't care though, I am suddenly very vigilant; my eyes sweep around me and I flit over to the nearest tree, almost throwing myself up the branches. What I see just below me in a thick barrage of leaves makes my breathing hitch and then stop.

My initial reaction is fear, it's always fear. My second is distrust. And my third, and secondly most potent reaction, is sympathy. Because there, sprawled and blood-sodden, numerously plagued by tracker jacker stings, is District 12's Katniss Everdeen.

She is still alive, I can see that. Her chest rises and falls, and if she was dead there would have been a cannon long ago. Canon . . . I think, and am suddenly confused, if it wasn't Katnis then . . . who died? I ran over the list of Careers in my head: Cato, Glimmer, Peeta , and a few others I couldn't put names to. I do know there are six of them though—well five or four now, unless it wasn't a Career who died. I know the answer to this, but again, the incoherence is probably driving me insane.

I decide not to dwell on that now. I have other things to worry about.

I glance down at Katniss again and the same emotions overtake me. Perplexity suddenly causes a line to span across my forehead. I don't know what to do. Leave her? Help her? I am so confused. I could kill her . . . NO, my mind snaps. I will not kill her. Then what?

I decide to do nothing. Though I finger the home-made rock-scythe from my pocket and keep it angled just right. You never know what could happen.

XXX

Sometime later—I don't know exactly when—she moves. I react immediately, pulling myself up another few branches where I watch with wide eyes. My knuckles are white from squeezing the rock.

Katniss lifts her hand to her eyes, where she seems to be verifying something. I don't understand at first, but when she moves to stretch her limps I catch the glimpse of a tracker jacker sting and I think I know. She drags herself over towards some plants, where she eats the nectar of honeysuckle. She is very weak.

I decide to put a fair amount of distance between us for the time being, the arrows she is now holding in her hands are making me feel anxious. I leap to the next tree, pull out a few roots from my sack, and begin to chew on them. I let my mind wander, thinking of home and the orchards. I'm just enjoying the silence.

Though the silence doesn't last long, because suddenly, before I know what's happening, an arrow whizzes below me making a sort of whooshing sound. I jump, startled, and swing off the branch to avoid falling. I'm very luck there is one directly below to land on.

I glance downward with fearful eyes to see Katniss making her way towards the body of a dead groosling, the arrow protruding from it significantly.

I am relieved to know it wasn't meant for me, but I am also very wary again. She is very strong to be able to travel this far so fast.

I watch, frozen in place as she plucks the feathers off the fowl. She builds a small fire, and eases the a small lot of the groosling over the coals. My stomach lurches. I am so hungry.

I ease down the tree, keeping my eyes locked on Kantiss's hunched back the whole way. I don't dare look away from her. I am stealthy enough to be able to maneuver down and onto the ground. My heart races again, she's so close. I take one step and a twig snaps.

So swift, so deft, she moves with a strung arrow pointed at me. I dart back into the protection of the thick foliage that surrounds us, behind the tree, and try my best to hide. I don't know what to do.

She stays that way a moment, her eyes darting frantically around her, before zeroing in on something on the ground by my feet. She glances to where my face is, finally noticing me. She smiles and her shoulders relax. Does she really think me so insignificant? Did she expect me to be Thrush, or Cato, or maybe even Peeta? I don't have enough time to contemplate this because her words strike me directly in the silence.

"You know they're not the only ones who can form allies."

I don't understand. Ally? Does she really mean me? Why? I lean around the truck and say, "You want me for an ally?

Her grin widens. "Why not, you saved me form those tracker jackers. You're smart enough. And I can't seem to shake you anyways."

I don't know what to say, I just stare at her, seemingly uncomprehending. Should I team up with her? Or is this a scam to kill me. After all there are still ten of us still playing in the Hunger Games . . .

"You hungry?" Her voice breaks through my thoughts again. I have to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat. I can't help but let my eyes flicker between her and the groosing; the meat is making my mouth water. "Come on, I've had two kills to today."

I can feel my thoughts still contradicting whether or not to join her, but I know my mind is already made up. I decide that maybe if she's being earnest enough that I should give her something in return. "I can fix your stings," I say, stepping out into the open. I feel so vulnerable. I am still anxious of those arrows she holds.

Katniss doesn't seem to notice anything; she lowers her bow and arrows. "Can you?" she asks. "How?"

I dig into my rucksack again until I find the leaves I'm looking for. When I find them I pull them out in a cupped hand to show her. Her eyes are very wide.

"Where'd you get those?"

"Just around. We carry them when we work in the orchards. They left a lot of nets there," I say, thinking of the ominous golden-coated tracker jackers. "There are a lot here too."

Her bow lowers even more. "That's right. You're District Eleven. Agriculture," She says. "Orchards, hu? That must be how you can fly around the trees like you have wings." I have to smile at that. I am very good at it, that's why, back home, I was always the one harvesting from the top branches.

Katniss's smile widens even more, and she drops to the ground saying, "Well, come on, then. Fix me up." She rolls up her pant leg revealing a very swollen tracker jackers sting on her knee.

I notice she has also completely discarded her bow and arrows so they lay sprawled in a heap a few feet away from her, and suddenly, I realize why I couldn't kill her. We're both survivors. Both contenders in the annual Hunger Games with no one to ally with as the Careers have. I can see why I was so concerned for her clearly now. And I bet, on other circumstances, we would be friends. We are technically enemies now. One of us will have to die sooner or later. There can only be one winner . . .

I walk over to Katniss, placing the leaves in my mouth as I did so, chewing them fiercely. I kneel down next to her and take the wad from my mouth placing it over the tracker jacker sting.

"Ohhh." She gasps in relief.

I laugh. "Lucky you had the sense to pull the stingers or you'd be a lot worse."

"Do my neck! Do my cheek!" she begs. I smile and grant her wishes.

I notice her eyeing the burn on my forearm. She looks at me and says, "I can fix that." Before pulling out a small silver container and dabbing what appears to be burn ointment on my arm. The small throbbing sensation that was there vanishes, like magic. It feels . . . great, surprisingly so.

"You have good sponsors." My voice is longing, envious even.

"Have you gotten anything yet?" she asks, and frowns when I shake my head. "You will, though. Watch. The closer we get to the end, the more people will realize how clever you are." I don't know why but I am suddenly wary again, as if her question means something I don't quite understand. Like it implied something unfathomable. I decide to play dumb instead of mentioning this.

"You weren't joking, about wanting me for an ally?"

"No, I meant it," she says, but the corners of her mouth are curving downward into an expression that seems out of place, but it lasts only briefly before she smiles again.

I remember I have to answer her.

"Okay," I say, and I shake her extended hand. I know I should be wary, and I am, kind of. I know this deal will have to be temporary and we'll both have to go our own ways as the players drift down to a handful. Otherwise we'll have to . . .

I try not to think of that. Katniss isn't mentioning it, so I decide against bringing it up. Though I want so badly to ask, what are we going to do? Instead, I turn towards the burning coals and watch the meat cook.

For the next hour or so we sit by the small fire. When the meat is cooked Katniss takes it off the fire, I decide to add one of the roots I had collected earlier in the games to it for seasoning. I tell her about the bird too, she had been calling it a wild chicken. Not that she's wrong, but this type of fowl is from my district. We don't know the name of them either, but we've always known as them as grooslings. I tell Katniss this, and then more about them. Like how a flock will wander into one of our orchards. That's the day we actually get a decent lunch; it's very rare when meat is on the menu.

My stomach practically summersaults—in a good way—when she pulls a lot of the bird off the fire. She hands me some and we both are quiet as we fill our empty stomachs. I can't remember the last time I had a decent meal . . . except for the Capital, but I don't really call that a meal, I don't really know what to call it, really.

When I finish my portion I still feel myself staring at the meat, and my stomach gurgles. Katniss must see my longing stare because she pulls a whole drumstick of the fire and hands to me. I stare at it confused.

"Oh," I say with a sigh. "I've never had a whole leg to myself before."

She smiles again. "Take another," she urges.

"Really?" I can't help but ask, though I'm dying for that leg right now.

"Take whatever you want. Now that I've got a bow and arrows, I can get more. Plus I've got snares. I can show you how to set them," she says. I still stare at the meat, confused. I'd never thought such generosity in the Hunger Games could be real. I am unsure. "Oh, take it." She drops the drumstick into my hands and I catch it reflexively.

Once I have it, my hunger takes over. I bite into it not even bothering to wipe away the fatty juices as they dribble down my chin. A moment later, Katniss is speaking to me again.

"I'd have thought, in District Eleven, you'd have a bit more to eat than us. You know, since you grow your own food."

I look at her and shake my head. "Oh, no, we're not allowed to eat the crops."

"They arrest you or something?" she asks.

"They whip you and make everyone else watch," I say, remembering one of the many public whippings back home. This causes me to shudder. "The mayor's very strict about it."

"Do you get all the coal you want?" I ask her. Like her, I am curious.

"No," she says. "Just what we buy and what we track in on our boots." This surprises me.

They feed us a bit extra during harvest, so that people can keep going longer," I say. I don't know why I am telling her this, though. Maybe because she's someone to talk to.

"You don't have to be in school?" she asks, with evident curiosity.

"Not during harvest. Everyone works then," I tell her. She is silent, thinking about this.

I decide and suggest that maybe we should lay out all our food to plat ahead. I've seen most of hers now, but I decide she should see more of mine, also. She's fine with this and we both dig into our packs and lay our food out in a pile.

Katniss eyes my stash before picking up a berry and rolling into between her fingers. She looks at me and says, "You sure this is safe?"

"Oh, yes, we have them back home. I've been eating them for days." I pick a few up and pop them in my mouth as if to reassure her. She watches me then very slowly bites into one. "I know it's not much," I tell her. I am embarrassed to have so little food to compare with. "But I had to get away from the Cornucopia fast."

"You did just right," she says. Then she spreads out all the gear she has from her pack. I gasp when I see a familiar pair of glasses amongst the pile.

"How did you get those?" I ask, almost demand. I can't believe it.

Katniss just stares at me like I'm crazy, and then says, "In my pack. They've been useless so far. They don't block out the sun and they make it harder to see." She shrugs.

"These aren't for sun, they're for darkness," I explain I am so surprised. "Sometimes, when we harvest through the night, they'll pass out a few pairs to those of us highest in the trees. Where the torchlight doesn't reach. One time, this boy Martin, he tried to keep his pair. Hid it in his pants. They killed him on the spot."

"They killed a boy for taking these?" she exclaims incredulously, shaking her head. "So what do these do?"

"They let you see in complete darkness," I tell her. She holds the glasses up to her face, examining them. "Try them tonight when the sun goes down."

I give Katniss the leaves for her stings and she hands me some matches, just in case. We extinguish our fired and head upstream until it's almost nightfall.

"Where do you sleep?" she asks me. "In the trees?" Her eyes go wide when I nod. "In just your jacket?"

I hold up my extra pair of socks, frowning. "I have these for my hands."

"She seems to be debating something in her mind. She turns her face away from me briefly, her expression attesting the "debating theory. When she turns back her face is expressionless. "You can share my sleeping bag if you want. We'll both easily fit."

For a moment I am wary, but that passes quickly because my jaw falls slack, my face lighting up. Is she serious? I never thought . . . never hoped . . . it's just been so cold. My thoughts are incoherent.

I just nod, speechless.

We decide on a tree, and climb to the fork of it. Katniss settles her sleeping bag up on the branch. As she does this, the anthem blares through the air. We both look to the sky reflexively, and I don't know whether to feel relieved or apprehensive—there are no deaths today. I look to Katniss and she seems to be thinking the same thing. Though her question is not what I expected.

"Rue, I only woke up today. How many nights did I miss?" I know the anthem should be blocking out our conversation, not to mention she's whispering, but I can still hear her. She seems to be guarding the conversation. But from who? The Gamekeepers? All of Panem? I decide to follow her cue.

"Two," I say under my breath. Also decide to tell her about the deaths. "The girls from Districts One and Four are dead. There's ten of us left."

She swallows hard. "Something strange happened. At least, I think it did. It might have been the tracker jacker venom making me imagine things." Her voice is low and careful. She doesn't say anything else but I think I know what she's talking about.

"He's not with them now," I tell her. "I've spied on their base camp by the lake. They made it back before they collapsed from the stingers. But he's not here. Maybe he did save you and had to run."

She doesn't answer right away. Instead she swallows hard again, seemingly deciding on what to say.

"If he did, it was all probably just part of the act. You know, to make people think he's in love with me," she says, her voice is slightly angry. I think of Peeta covered in blood and tracker jackers stings, saving her from Cato and the other carriers, almost killing himself.

"Oh," I say, my voice thoughtful, "I didn't think that was an act."

"'Course it is," she replies. "He worked it out with our mentor." The anthem finally ends and the sky goes dark. She shakes her head and continues, her voice in a different tone, "let's try out these glasses."

I know it's just to change the conversation, and I don't say anything. Instead I watch as she pulls the dark-tinted glasses out of her back and place them on her face. She looks around and I nearly laugh at her expression; it's completely awestruck. She looks everywhere—right, left, down, and far off into the distance.

"I wonder who else go a pair of these," she says. I think it's mostly to herself, but I answer anyways.

"The Careers have two pairs. But they've got everything down by the lake," I tell her glumly. I think of them, their strength, and my stomach goes numb. "They're so strong." My voice is barely audible.

"We're strong, too," Katniss says defensively. "Just in a different way."

Yeah, right. "You are. You can shoot," I say. "What can I do?"

"You can feed yourself. Can they?"

They don't have to. They have all those supplies," I tell her.

Her expression changes. "Say they didn't. Say the supplies were gone. How long would they last?" Her tone, her confidence, causes pathetic hope to spiral in my stomach. "I mean, it's the Hunger Games, right?"

"But Katniss, they're not hungry."

"No they're not. That's the problem," she agrees. She's silent for a moment, her expression now contemplative. When she looks back at me her eyes are very wide. I suppose mine are too, because what she says frightens me.

"I think we're going to have to fix that, Rue."

All rights to the Hunger Games rightfully belong to Suzanne Collins.